His shattered mind
by Arka1248
Summary: After the War of Wrath Sauron decided to cast off his dark legacy and to start everything anew.
1. Chapter 1

_Ah, Alice, we can't go home again. No surprise, really. Only a very few find the way; and most of them don't recognize it when they do. Delusions, too, die hard._

_Alice: Madness returns_

* * *

At last the Blue Mountains retreated behind; and it was midday when he entered a dense, ancient forest. His warg required some rest after their long ride.

The heat in the air was palpable and he found shelter in the shadow of an old willow near a creek.

He lay straight onto the ground and adjusted his mount's fur as a pillow, curling at its side. The beast fell asleep, exhausted. He did not though, lying with his eyes closed. While he was on the move, his head had not bothered him and he took it for a good sign. He took it as a sign of recovery, of a new hope.

Yet, during this stop the disparity of his restless mind declared itself again. A voice dared to appear yet once more. It was born from the clot of the thick dark that had taken roots deep inside his head - the remnant of the one, who had been sealed in the Void. It reminded him of his grievous past. It haunted him. It turned his thoughts intrusive. At first, he tried to silence it with the images of the new violent ocean he had witnessed beyond the mountain ridge. That magnificent manifestation of the power of the West drove it away; and the voice kept silent for quite a while. But then the voice resonated even through the depths. His mind began to talk to itself.

_i am you_

_I'm free. Leave me be._

_you belong to me_

Seeking for any kind of distraction he recalled his memories of the recent events, briefly passing through them again.

His betrayal of his dark Master.

The ruins of Angband. He would not deny himself the dark pleasure of walking among the debris, bidding farewell to the stones that had witnessed his suffer.

And the army of the Valar terrible in its glory, which he both feared and anticipated.

He opened his eyes.

_I will not forgive myself if I do not try._

The camp of the West was quiet. Calm. They did not feast, did not celebrate their victory. The atmosphere around was focused, wary, even grim. His lips curved slightly in a bitter smile. No one roamed across the field, no one approached him, no one stared at him. This bleak mass of creatures seemed apathetic, not threatening. It lifted his spirits, even if slightly. As he walked through the encampment, his gaze fleeted casually from one tent to another. Avoiding the faces.

_turn back_

He ignored the voice.

A needle of a dark matter invaded his head, then another one, and another one, and another until they became a hundred. Like a swarm they murmured something unintelligible. He forbade himself to listen.

_Resist._

Thank Eru, soon enough he found the tent he sought. As he approached it, the needles amplified their assault. His mind itched. He entered and Eonwe turned around to face him, and his was alone.

_Alone._

Yet for some reason his gaze dropped to meet the ground; the Herald's expression escaped him. Looking at his former friend suddenly appeared as an impossible task. His eyes refused to look up.

"I am... surprised." Eonwe's voice pounded against his ears. A calm voice, unbearably calm, that hid a wall with an emotion behind. The wall he could see. Not the emotion. The wall remained impenetrable to him. Inaccessible. This mocking uncertainty invoked rage. The needles welcomed it with throbbing.

_Suppress. Talk. As planned._

"Eonwe, I plead for your forgiveness." He choked as he heard himself uttering these miserable words with a miserable voice. That was not what he had intended to say, not like this, not like begging.

_not like_

"I want to come back. Home." After his mouth managed to spit out the last word, his lips, his tongue, his vocal chords went numb paralysed by the thing in his head. A part of him rejoiced. A part of him despaired.

"If I had the authority to decide upon your fate, I might have considered the possibility of forgiving you your crimes. Sauron." said the Herald after a short pause.

_Too complicated. Cannot concentrate._

_Did his voice soften at the last word?_

_Does he hate me?_

_Did he miss me?_

"But I do not have the right for such decisions. You are to appear before the Valar...

Eonwe was still talking something. He could not tell if he could even hear anything. His thoughts turned into a maelstrom.

_Eonwe is my friend hates me_

_Valar will forgive cast me into the void_

_This is the chance to save doom myself_

A blazing prod poked through his head replacing the needles. In response his head pulsed in anguish. His own thoughts mingled with the voices creating chimeras, demanding, craving for his attention.

He could not distinguish between them. His hands pressed around his head trying to smash his skull. He bent double. The pain settled behind his left eye.

Eonwe approached him. His hand touched the other's hair to let it slide through his fingers. For some moments both Maiar did not breathe, listening to the poignant silence. Until Eonwe's sigh broke the magic of time standing still.

"Oh, my dear friend, what have you done?"

Eonwe's gentle hand began to stroke his cheekbone and it seared him to the core. It was unbearable.

"Shut up!"

Eonwe froze, startled.

"I hate you, Eonwe," he spoke with all the love he felt to the Herald. His voice fell bizarre and did not belong to him, as if someone else was talking. As these words were uttered, the torment ceased. The clot calmed down. The relief was so unexpected and violent, that it brought a surge of nausea with it.

Despite feeling sick he straightened. The cacophony ceased and he was grateful and afraid. Afraid that it would return and the dark would gnaw at him anew.

_Perhaps I should leave. Perhaps I should have never come. _As if from the outside he watched himself leaving the tent; he could not tell whether it was his decision or not as if the control over his body was taken by someone else.

Yet as he walked, some part of him expected, prayed for Eonwe to order him to halt. But everything was only a dream and it did not happen.

"Yes, It had only been in a dream, perhaps a nightmare. Perhaps." he muttered to himself in reassurance. "Or maybe not."

_Perhaps I was distracted._

The sun had gone down, the heat was gone too. The light gusts of wind drove off the stagnant air. At dusk he would resume his journey East. There, in the West they would forget about him. And he would amend what he had done, to earn his redemption, to be welcomed back. To see Lord Aule and Lady Yavanna again. And Eonwe. And to repair this... this cracked

_shattered_

mirror.

_mind_

He blinked. The gust might have brought a stray pollen into his eye. When he got rid of it, the thought was gone. And what was it about? He could not recall. But he knew it was time to move on.

_I will prove to them all, that I am not like.. not like..._

_him_

_Perhaps the elves may be of use. Perhaps they will serve my goal. Perhaps._


	2. Chapter 2

_Your skepticism is justified. But lacking full clarity does not induce, nor justify an action. Nor has it ever. But yes, even advances by those of noble intention are not immune from unintended consequences, whether from lack of foresight or external manipulation._

_Alice Otherlands: Leviathan._

* * *

"Just a little longer and I'm finished for today."

He let out a soft sigh.

Were the elf more observant, free of his emotions, he would sense exasperation in the Maia, but Celebrimbor did not notice anything, all captured by his inspiration.

According to the shadows, he had spent hours posing for the elf. Bored, he began to follow the movements of Celebrimbor's brush with his gaze.

_He loves what he does._

The elf had brought him into one of the secluded silent yards, where the other smiths from the Gwaith-i-Mirdain could not bother them. And where Celebrimbor intended to work on his painting before sculpting the statue of Annatar in marble.

Not that he desired his own statue of marble; he never measured vanity in useless objects, but he did want to please the elf, who's favour he sought.

_If only to lull any suspicions of you, my dear master-smith, I indulge you in this nonsense you call "art"._

Still, he admitted that Celebrimbor had inherited an outstanding skill in crafts. He was even glad that Gil-galad and Elrond refused his offer. The jewelsmiths from the Gwaith-i-Mirdain tended to preserve the traditions from Valinor in their works. And their leader truly shone above them, so his eyes rejoiced when every tiny thing, every trifle here reflected his home.

_jewel_

_smiths_

_jewel_

The idea came to his mind absolutely unexpected, out of nowhere. Some small objects, jewelry it was.

_Medallions, bracelets, rings? Rings, the tiniest of all._

Rings imbued with power and distributed among the worthiest representatives of the Elven race.

Together they would assist him in repairing the damage dealt to Arda during the age of Angband. They would create a new Arda and a new order. A right order. And he would come back, redeemed by the glory of their deeds. Finally he would come home.

And Celebrimbor would help him.

The elf raised his gaze to look at him once more and he met it with a gentle smile.

"I love how the light falls on your body. It makes your skin glow. And this pose of yours is chaste and yet sensual. You look... unearthly, Annatar." Flush covered the elf's cheekbones as he had said this, as if he was taken by surprise by his own words. "Please forgive me, I did not mean anything of...of any kind," he whispered and his gaze returned back to the parchment.

Inwardly he snorted at these words, trying to keep his face serene.

_So, it used to be Galadriel, then… me? You think too much of yourself, my dear Celebrimbor. I cannot be the second after someone. Will never be the second. Moreover, you are just an elf._

Nonetheless, as a hunter he sensed in an instant the weakness he could prey on. He could serve the elf's secret desires, he could pull that string of the other one's feelings to his benefits. Perhaps, someday he would need to press on the elf. Or use him as a tol in his sport. That he could not decide yet.

"I did not intend to embarrass you, my friend. Please forgive me if I did. I'm finished and I appreciate your patience." Celebrimbor lay his brush aside and stood up.

He shifted as well, abandoning the pose the elf had asked him to take, looking for his elvish tunique.

"You sound as if it was you having to stand naked and still for quite a while, and not me. No need to worry, master-smith." He made certain that the elf's eyes found his own. None of the Children could withstand the power of his gaze, be it stern or soft; and he was aware of it and used it to his advantage. This time he let it fall soft and coaxing, the elf would not refuse him.

"Also I have something to tell you. I require your help."

It was dark and the lights in the houses began to fall one by one as they sat before the smithy. He waited for the elf's "good night" but Celebrimbor tarried with their parting. At last, Celebrimbor turned his head to him.

"Would you tell me about your plan again?"

He did not turn his head to Celebrimbor.

With patience he began to repeat it once more, now with other words.

"The power inside these Rings will enhance the abilities of their owners and we can induce it to restore Arda. But beware, it could be induced by evi…"

_yourself_

He choked on his own words.

"So choose wisely." The last words came out too hard. The impression he intended to create might have been spoilt. Disappointed and displeased by himself he fell silent.

And then Celebrimbor took his hand and squeezed it gently, their fingers entwined.

"What is this that troubles you, my friend? Share your ailments with me and I might help."

And then he could not resist a deadly weakness of mind. He imagined how out of the most hidden recesses of his being he brought a locked box with trust, hope and his heart. He fetched the key. He inserted the key into the lock.

_Let him take it. Let me be at peace._

"There is a gaping emptiness deep within my very self, Celebrimbor. And nothing in the world can fill it."

As soon as he said it, a familiar shade emerged out of his emptiness as if his words served as an incantation. The clot of dark inside his head pulsed, even pounded. The realisation that he almost made a mistake struck him. Instead of turning the key, he tossed it to the shade and it hungrily devoured it. Shuddering, he wrenched his hand out of Celebrimbor's grasp.

"Forgive me. That is not what I intended to say. I talk nonsense. I am weary after posing for you for that long, my friend. Please allow me to depart for the night time."

He stood up and walked towards his quarters.

"But Annatar, wait…"

This time the words were said. This time it was too late.

When he entered his room, he did not light the lamp. Instead, he just sat on the bed, peering into the darkness and listening to the silence. He had to make the right decision, here and now. He had to listen to the clot of dark matter in his head.

To take the Rings was the only way, the only cure for this nightmare. He would steal them all. If only he had his swift wargs at his disposal... otherwise he would also have to steal a horse to flee to the East. And the elves on their steeds would chase him and imprison him. Why would they not? Slay him, skin him, torture him. His skin burst with searing pain as if he had already been experiencing thisl. Anger and helplessness overwhelmed him. And it were elves, who's fault it was, he hated them for that. Lying, disgusting, untrustworthy creatures.

_No chance. There must be another option._

He would depart to the East without the Rings, without chase but with Celebrimbor's consent. And then return. With his armies. With his arms. And take the Rings by force.

_by blood if needed _

And then he would slay them, skin them, torture them. For what they had done to him.

_What have they done to me?_

_nothing all_

_Just need to tell Celebrimbor not to give them out in my absence._

_lest he cheats me a lying disgusting untrustworthy creature_

_So be it._

* * *

"You pay for your grandfather sins. For blood you pay with blood. "

They ended in the same yard as before. But this time it was Celebrimbor "posing" for him on an improvised rake. Instead of drawing pictures they had played a game, "a warg and his prey'. Celebrimbor tried on the role of the prey and having found the game tiring he deserved a bit of rest.

_we both deserve it my jaw aches and tomorrow it will ache even more biting someone like you is a hard work and i did well just look where your fingers are_

Suddenly the elf who had almost passed out, wheezed, spat blood out of his mouth and then his broken lips twitched, forming words.

"You are insane."

"What?"

But he got no answer. The elf was taken by a wild cough, that turned into the death rattle and he shook with his whole body. And then Celebrimbor simply dared to die, defying his will, ruining his plans. The whereabouts of the Three remained unknown; Celebrimbor did manage to cheat him eventually.

He extended his arm forward, closing the sight of the dead body before him. The Ring on his finger glistened merrily on the sun.

_What do we do now?_

_we move forward to our goal_

He looked at the elf.

"Forgive me, my friend. I will require your services for a couple of days still. My bannerman is an orc with considerable stamina. He would not mind the stench of your rotting and the pole is long."

It was time to give orders and he had already dallied for quite a while.

Yet at the archway he halted. Without looking back he asked the corpse.

"By the way, Celebrimbor. Where is the statue?"


End file.
